How Governmental Policies are Created
by bushy-haired veela 2
Summary: Hermione wants justice, and she'll do whatever it takes to get it. Rating for safety due to very light mentions of rape.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Okay, so it's been a hell of a while since my last "Collar..." update, and I'll be honest, I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out. I've hit a bit of a writer's block without Voldemort around to create a ready-made conflict, and emotions are a lot harder to write than action scenes for me. This idea came to me last night, and I eventually decided to write it down and publish it as a one-shot that could possibly be more. If I decide to continue it, maybe it'll get my creative juices flowing and I can continue with "Collar..." There are mentions of rape in this story, but nothing graphic, so no worries there.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, this shit would be cannon.

 **How Governmental Policies are Created**

 _Once, as a social experiment, a group of scientists placed six monkeys in a cage. The monkeys were non-aggressive, and specifically chosen because they showed passive and submissive tendencies when around other monkeys. From the roof of the cage hung a banana on a string, and a small ladder was placed directly under the banana._

* * *

" _Theodore Nott_ ," Hermione spat the name as though it were acid on her tongue, "raped an eight-year-old girl during the Tri-Wizard Tournament! He was also a known Death Eater during Voldemort's" she bit back a smirk as her audience flinched in terror, "second reign. You mean to tell me that you only plan to punish him for one of those crimes?!"

Some of the all-male Wizengamot looked a tad guilty at the accusation, but a disturbing majority merely scoffed or raised a condescending eyebrow in response.

"Miss Granger, there is no law stating that subhuman beings can be raped by wizards." The Chief Warlock, a professional puppet with a permanent look of smelling something rancid, glared down his nose at the defiant brunette who had dared to interrupt the courtroom proceedings.

* * *

 _Naturally, one of the monkeys eventually tried to climb the ladder to reach the banana. As soon as he did, every monkey in the cage was sprayed with ice-cold water until the monkey jumped back down. This process was continued every time one of the monkeys attempted to get the banana hanging from the ceiling._

 _Eventually, the monkeys stopped trying, and were even careful to give the ladder itself a wide berth. None of them even looked in the banana's direction._

* * *

"That 'subhuman being' is my sister-in-law." Hermione growled through tightly clenched teeth as she struggled to contain the angry magic sparking from her fingertips. "And it's Madame Delacour, Chief Warlock. If there is no law, then the answer is simple: make one!"

"Miss _Granger_ , need I remind you that marriages to subhuman beings are not recognized by the Ministry, either? Even if it is recognized by the French Ministry." Chief Puppet sneered distastefully as he mentioned his government's French counterpart. "Furthermore, this august body does not make laws on the say-so of a spoiled brat."

"A spoiled brat who's not afraid to say the name Voldemort, you mean?" This time, Hermione didn't bother to contain her feral smirk at the cries of terror that echoed throughout the courtroom. "A spoiled brat who sacrificed everything, including her parents," she threw her cloak from her shoulders and ripped her left sleeve off, exposing the jagged scars that ran up her now almost useless arm, "and her body, so that a pathetic toady like yourself could weasel his way into the top seat of this corrupt court?! A spoiled brat who fought like an angry wolf so that mice that you could tell her to stop fighting and get in her cage?!"

"THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH!" Chief Puppet screeched as he jumped to his feet, his face red from either his anger or the effort. "I WILL NOT SIT HERE AND HAVE THIS HONORABLE GOVERNING BODY INSULTED BY A MUD-"

"By a MUDBLOOD?!" Hermione challenged with a victorious smirk as the courtroom stared in awe and fear at the showdown taking place.

* * *

 _Once they knew that none of the monkeys would make another attempt for the banana, the scientists removed one and put a new monkey in his place. The new monkey had never been touched by the water, and he had never seen the other monkeys being sprayed. Naturally, he went straight for the ladder and the yellow fruit hanging from the ceiling._

 _The other monkeys, specifically chosen for their docility and submissiveness, immediately jumped on the new monkey. The bit, punched, kicked, and scratched him before throwing him in the corner farthest from the ladder. The new monkey tried for the banana a couple more times, and each time was met with the same brutal treatment._

 _Eventually, the new monkey also stopped trying for the banana._

* * *

Chief Puppet's blue eyes stared into Hermione's angry brown ones. The courtroom collectively held their breaths as the stare down continued for what felt like hours. Hermione knew that this man could throw her in Azkaban, or through the Veil, or just make life in Magical Britain all-around hellish for her, but she didn't give a shit. Gabrielle had waited eight long years for justice, and the brunette would be damned if she allowed this group of holier-than-thou pureblooded bigots to tell the girl that she would never see Nott punished for what he did to her. She'd stood up to Snatchers, Death Eaters, Mercenaries, and (in one particularly memorable episode) Voldemort himself to protect Fleur and Gabrielle; this jumped up little sycophant was dreaming if he thought his purple robes and superior demeanor would make Hermione back down.

Finally, the Chief Warlock blinked and stiffly re-took his seat.

"Auror Potter," he said with barely contained fury, "escort Miss Granger out of this courtroom. Note also that she is fined one knut for using a slur in the presence of the Wizengamot." The fine was only a formality, and he made sure to use it to emphasize to the young woman just how much he thought she was worth. In this pissing contest, it was the only victory Chief Puppet would be getting from the muggleborn witch. He intended to wring all he could out of it. "I advise you not to resist, Miss Granger. After all, Potter did face down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named like a true Gryffindor."

Hermione, refusing to be baited any further, shifted her hard gaze to the emerald eyes of the Man-Who-Triumphed.

"Lions may be the stronger animal," Hermione said with an eerily calm voice as she stared the Auror down, "but wolves never perform in the circus."

She then fished a galleon out of her pocket and flipped the coin with her thumb, using a bit of wandless magic to make it land in Chief Puppet's goblet of pumpkin juice. The tiny splash caused a few drops to spill onto the parchment on his desk.

"Keep the change." She called over her shoulder as she stalked out of the courtroom with her head held high.

* * *

 _Once the new monkey began to avoid the banana with the same intensity as the others, the scientists replaced another one of the original monkeys with a new one. Once again, this new monkey had never been touched by the cold water. Of course, he went straight for the ladder and the banana. Yet again, the other monkeys attacked the newcomer savagely. However, the scientists noted that not only did the first new monkey join in on the beat down, he attacked the newcomer even more savagely than most of the other monkeys. He had never been sprayed, and he had no idea why they were not allowed to get the banana, he simply knew that it was forbidden._

 _Eventually, the second new monkey also learned not to go for the banana._

* * *

Harry hurried out of the courtroom as soon as it had emptied, frantically looking for the defiant brunette. A shiver ran down his spine as a cool voice drifted from the darkened corner nearest the courtroom door.

"Did you know, Harry?" Came the cold tone with a hint of accusation.

"Hermione," he called desperately as he whirled to face her, "please, you have to understand-"

Whatever Hermione needed to understand was cut off as a chilly hand grabbed Harry by the throat and pinned him against the wall. Harry had always been wiry and fast, but his lean body was no match against the solid wall of muscle that the Second War had turned Hermione into.

* * *

 _The scientists continued to periodically switch out the original monkeys for new ones. Each time they added a new monkey, he would be taught the hard way not to try to get the banana. Eventually, there were six monkeys in the cage who had never been sprayed, but absolutely refused to go near the ladder._

* * *

The Second War against Voldemort had been fought on two fronts: the public front and the private front. Harry obviously had to be the public figurehead, since his presence kept the people of Magical Britain in good spirits and made them more willing to oppose the Death Eaters. The public army was comprised of talented duelers, skilled Transfigurationists, and master healers. People who had a great deal of magical power and stamina. Dean Thomas, whose years of playing MMORPGs gave him a surprising amount of tactical knowledge, affectionately referred to Harry's group as "The Tanks". Most of the purebloods didn't get it, but it never failed to make the muggleborn and muggle-raised smirk in equal parts secrecy and pride.

When Harry publicly dueled and killed Voldemort in the middle of the Ministry of Magic, he and the rest of the Tanks were awarded Orders of Merlin for their bravery. Harry Potter was the conquering hero, able to flatten any who dared challenge him in a magical fight.

A physical fight, however, was a completely different story.

Hermione's right hand grabbed Harry's in a vice-like grip as she pinned him against the wall with her left. His green eyes traced the vein-like scars that ran like lightning bolts up her arm, souvenirs from when she had grabbed a Death Eater's equivalent of a cattle prod by the business end to protect Gabrielle and to pull the gaping Death Eater close enough for Hermione to shove a knife into his eye socket and brain. Her left arm now suffered from extreme nerve damage and hurt like hell the few times she could force it to respond to her commands. Harry looked into Hermione's eyes and didn't see pain, only cold fury.

"Did you know that they weren't going to charge Nott with rape?" Hermione asked again, her jaw clenched with barely contained rage. "Do you know how long it took for me and Fleur to convince her to share that memory? Do you know how many times I promised her that he would be punished for what he did?! Do you know how many night terrors she's suffered because of that piece of _shit_?!" Her hissed words floated eerily through the empty corridor.

"I…I'm sorry, Hermione." Was all that Harry could offer. The rage that had built in Hermione's eyes vanished in an instant, leaving behind two hollow orbs that stared him down coldly. They scared Harry even more.

"…So am I." She whispered as she released her grip on Harry and watched him crumple to the floor dispassionately. As she turned to leave, she left the green-eyed wizard with one last haunting question.

"What would Ron say, if he were here?"

* * *

 _Deviating slightly from their normal routine, the scientists added a seventh monkey to the group instead of replacing one. The new monkey, of course, went straight for the banana and was attacked. The six monkeys attacking the seventh had never been sprayed with water. They had no idea why they weren't allowed to go near the banana, they simply knew that anyone who did needed to be punished._

 _Why?_

 _Because that's the way it's always been done._

* * *

Hermione retreated to her small workshop behind the cozy cottage that she and Fleur owned in France. Gabrielle, after numerous calming and dreamless sleep potions, had finally succumb to a fitful sleep. Even then, she refused to close her eyes unless her sister promised to stay with her. The muggleborn had given the two some privacy as soon as Gabrielle had drifted off, but told Fleur that she would leave a monitoring charm on the bedroom in case she was needed. Her wife didn't argue, knowing that the conflicted brunette needed some time to think. To sort things out. To plan.

Hermione knew that this would happen. Veela, werewolves, elves, goblins…they were all considered less than human to the bigoted English government. That hadn't changed when Voldemort had finally been killed almost a year ago, and Harry didn't seem to be interested in using his newfound political clout to make the changes Magical Britain really needed. He'd already fought one war, and he wasn't eager to start another one. Still, in a last-ditch attempt to give him and the pure-blooded government one last chance to start changing their ways, Hermione had petitioned for Theodore Nott to be charged with the rape of Gabrielle Delacour, who had been eight years old at the time.

She knew, deep down, that all of her effort would be in vain. Veela carried with them a certain stigma in Britain, and were stereotyped as being promiscuous and sex-crazed.

 _"She probably forced the poor young man into it, then cried rape to get some galleons from his family."_

 _"Really, what was she thinking, wandering around by herself with so many wizards weak to her thrall?"_

 _"The little tart was asking for it, really."_

The cruel words of some of the courtroom audience members came back to her as she pulled various folders and rolls of parchment from her desk. Her left arm throbbed in agony as she forced it to work, but she ignored it. She needed the pain. She had failed her sister-in-law. She needed the punishment.

Soon, the walls and desks were covered with blueprints, files, and dossiers. All of them pertaining to the Ministry of Magic and its leadership. On the corkboard in the center were the pictures and names of the department heads, Wizengamot members, and major donors. Pureblood fanatics, all of them.

She sat in her chair and looked at the pictures, her good hand compulsively fingering a small bronze badge with a wolf's head holding a dagger in its teeth engraved on the front. The badge of the Rogues.

Led by Hermione and comprised of witches and wizards who weren't particularly powerful or well-known, the Rogues were the other main force in the war against Voldemort. They were people who tended to go unnoticed all of their lives, and were generally considered unremarkable in terms of power or ability. But what they lacked in power, they made up for in cunning, agility, and pure _ruthlessness_.

While the Tanks kept Voldemort focused on themselves, the Rogues would do the work that no one else could do. They kidnapped and "interrogated" higher-level Death Eaters, they set fire to manors and supply storage facilities, they monitored every home in Magical Britain, and they assassinated public supporters of Voldemort. It was a dirty job, and it used a surprisingly small amount of magic in order to keep the Rogues somewhat under Voldemort's radar. The arrogant Dark Lord continuously dismissed them as being too weak to fight like "real Wizards", even when they managed to slit Draco Malfoy's throat in the middle of Knockturn Alley. Luna had particularly enjoyed that kill.

Forgoing their wands and charms for knives and runes, Hermione's small army carefully picked off important members of Voldemort's regime until none but his most incompetent followers remained when the final battle took place. Harry never knew how many Horcruxes Riddle had made, nor did he know about the magic-draining poison slipped into the Dark Lord's tea every morning for a month. As powerful as Harry was, Hermione never took chances.

After the final battle, the mostly pureblooded Tanks were celebrated for their actions, while the primarily muggle-rooted Rogues were quietly given minor awards and shuffled into menial administrative and custodial roles within the Ministry. Hermione often wondered if the difference in treatment was due to blood status, or because the public simply wasn't willing to admit what it really took to win a war. It didn't matter, because the Ministry had done exactly what had been expected of them.

Only a fool whose power comes from nepotism ignores the people on the bottom rung of a company. Receptionists, gophers, and custodians may make less than the department heads, but they knew far more about what was going on around them. As the Ministry taxed, bullied,0 and blustered their way back into "respectability", the Rogues quietly gathered intel. Over the course of a year, they'd amassed enough information to know every department head's extended family by individual names.

They'd plotted and planned and waited, and it was finally about to pay off. If the government didn't want to change itself, then they would change it. They would start a revolution, and Hermione would lead the charge. And she knew that, with enough convincing, the downtrodden elves, werewolves, goblins, and other "sub humans" would follow. British purebloods spent so much time degrading anyone they considered "beneath" them, that they'd never stopped to consider that they were the minority in the magical world.

Hermione intended to remind them.

Another jolt of pain, far stronger than the earlier ones, shot through Hermione's arm suddenly, making her hiss in agony. She stared down at the arm she'd sacrificed for the "Greater Good" with undisguised distain. She never regretted saving Gabrielle from one of the "Shock Staves", as they were called by the Death Eaters, but she hated how devastating not having one working arm was. Fleur was using magic and physical therapy to heal her arm, but it was a slow process and it didn't guarantee that she'd ever have the full use of her arm again.

Hermione needed two arms to fight the revolution.

She cleared the nearby desk and stretched her arm across it, casting barriers to protect the papers on the walls and floor. She re-enforced the silencing charm that was already around the shed and cast several strong numbing charms on her arm. She pulled a Pepper-Up potion from her pocket and downed it swiftly; it would keep her from going into shock. She then conjured a piece of wood and stuck it between her teeth, biting down in anticipation.

Hermione contemplated what she was about to do. Replacing her arm with a metal one would be a simple task, though she would make sure to use a duller black-colored metal in her conjuring. It's rather difficult to sneak about when you have a shiny metal arm gleaming in the light, after all. Still, Fleur wouldn't be too thrilled about the metal arm, though she would understand why it was necessary. But, despite the pain her current arm caused her, she would miss feeling the warmth of Fleur's skin under those fingertips. Feeling Fleur's hand trace lightly along her bicep and shoulder, causing her to squirm. Feeling the wet heat of her lover's core as Hermione loved her with her fingers. She would miss a lot of things about this arm. But she would gain a lot, as well.

The brunette placed the tip of her wand against her left shoulder, her mind whirling with images of a free Britain. Of muggleborns who weren't treated with distain simply because of who their parents were. Of elves who weren't ordered to die fighting bravely as their masters cowered in secret rooms. Of goblins who were respected for their incredible abilities, rather than restricted and treated with unfair suspicion. Of pureblood bigots forced to work the menial jobs they'd actually earned.

Of a little blonde Veela finally seeing justice for the horrible things done to her.

Hermione's eyes flashed with resolve, and she muttered around the wood in her clenched teeth the first spell of the British Revolution:

" _Diffindo_."


	2. Chapter 2: Becoming a Rogue

AN: So, inspiration seems to be coming pretty well with this story. So, I'm just gonna go with it and see what happens! This chapter is shorter and more of a filler, but I wanted to expand a bit on Hermione's role in the war. Planning on the next chapter to have more Revolution-driven plot going on, but I'll be honest, I really don't plan these stories. Shocker, I know, but my writing is a little more "yeah, let's roll with this and see where it goes" than it is "let's carefully map out the story from A to Z".

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, just my currently cold medicine-addled brain!

 **Becoming a Rogue**

"Welcome, everyone, to the first day of the rest of your nerve-wracking, brutal, and possibly very short, lives. You've all been chosen because you've demonstrated the kind of skills and personality traits that we look for in Rogue agents. You've been chosen because you have to ability to compartmentalize your feelings, to be subtle, and to do what must be done. You're not here because you want to fight Death Eaters. You're here because you want to kill Death Eaters. Now, all of you, give me your wands."

Gabrielle had to give Hermione credit, she did not fuck around. The small group of trainees shuffled about nervously at their desks as the brunette stared them all down from her place at the front of the makeshift classroom. Finally, one reached into his pocket and removed his wand, laying it on the desk for Gabrielle to collect. One by one, the others followed his lead until only one trainee hadn't surrendered her wand.

"Miss Williams," Hermione noted the trainee's name as she turned her hard gaze on the rapidly-paling face, "is there any particular reason why you are not giving Miss Delacour your wand?"

"I…yes, Commander." Williams, a petite redhead with hazel green eyes and a round face, swallowed her nerves as she struggled to meet her new commander's gaze. "I wish to know why we're required to give up our wands."

Hermione's eyes flashed with what only Gabrielle could identify as pride.

"You're required to surrender your wands because you're too dependent on them. Sneaking about and being discreet seems pointless when you can just take what you need and then cast a simple memory charm, but memory charms leave behind signatures and ambient magic. When you learn discretion and secrecy, you can get anything that you need from the enemy without them realizing that you were even there. You then have plans, troop numbers, and enemy intel while your enemy doesn't even know that you exist."

Another trainee, a young man with dark stubble and a nose that had clearly been broken once or twice, spoke up. "But, doesn't Riddle already know about the Rogues?"

"Indeed he does, Mister Jackson." Hermione nodded, subtly encouraging the questioning. "The wizarding public knows that we exist, as well. What they don't know is how we operate, who we are, and what our true goals are."

"What are our goals?" Asked a blonde with a pixie cut and a muscular form.

"Our main goal, Madame Clonch, is to dismantle Riddle's powerbase, and to give Harry Potter a clear shot at taking him out." Gabrielle spoke up.

"And we plan to do that with as little magic as possible?" Williams clarified.

"That's correct, Miss Williams." Hermione nodded. She then directed her attention to the entire room. "Let me clarify: if at any point during your training you find that this isn't the type of job for you, we understand and will reassign you to a different unit. We won't kill you, torture you, or even shame you. This job isn't for everyone, and we know that. We will, however, wipe your memories of the specifics of our training and methods."

Everyone shifted at that news and a few shocked outbursts were heard. Hermione merely raised her hand to silence the room.

"Memory charms are standard protocol for any Resistance member who transfers, meaning that the Tanks do it, too. The Resistance is kept as compartmentalized as possible in order to protect its secrets and members. If a Rogue is captured, for example, Riddle won't be able to get any information on the Tanks' battle formations or future strike plans. Likewise, if a Tank is captured, they can't give up any secrets on how the Rogues operate, or which agents are placed within the Death Eaters."

"We have spies in Riddle's ranks?!" Jackson gasped.

Hermione smirked in response. "We have spies everywhere. I won't lie to any of you, this is a dangerous job. You will constantly be in peril, you will commit very morally dubious actions, and you will kill people. But, if you successfully complete your training, you will become a part of a unit that sees everything, knows everything, and predicts everything. You won't be hailed as heroes when the war ends; honestly, even if we win, the Ministry will likely try to keep our involvement as quiet as possible. There is no eternal glory to be found with this unit, but the Rogues are the ones who get things done."

"What do the Tanks do, then?" Williams asked.

Hermione crossed the room to Williams's desk and held out her hand in response.

"Give me your wand, and you'll find out."

Williams met Hermione's battle-hardened eyes with her own…and handed over her wand.

* * *

Hermione ghosted her way back into the cottage, her cloak covering her left side completely. She climbed the stairs, making a bit of noise so as not to startle Fleur with her sudden re-appearance. When she reached the open doorway to Gabrielle's room, her wife was already looking up at her with expectant eyes.

The older woman stood and crossed the room to her lover, looking down into her eternally angry but loving eyes. Fleur used to be worried about the anger she always saw smoldering away in those chocolate orbs, but over time she learned how powerful Hermione's anger actually made her. It focused her, gave her power, and fueled her drive to accomplish the impossible. Sometimes, Fleur would joke that an angry Hermione was really a happy Hermione. More importantly, the Veela had learned quickly that Hermione would never harm her. That no matter how angry the muggleborn got at the world, she would always love the people closest to her heart.

Most of all, Fleur learned that anyone who harmed the people Hermione loved would pay dearly for it, and Hermione loved Gabrielle like the sister she'd never had.

"You were right." Fleur whispered as she lowered her forehead to meet her shorter wife's.

"I didn't want to be." Hermione admitted, thinking back on the farce that had taken place a few short hours ago in the courtroom.

"I know."

Fleur gently pushed the brunette's cloak off, revealing the prosthetic arm that she knew would be there. She wasn't happy about it, but she understood.

"It wasn't an easy decision to make." Hermione said, referring to her arm and so much more.

"I know."

Fleur gently took Hermione's face in her hands and began placing feather-light kisses on every bit of skin that she could reach.

"Many people won't understand our reasoning." Hermione murmured as her eyes fluttered closed.

"I know."

"We'll probably not be able to return to France." The muggleborn warned, and Fleur's heart clenched at the thought.

"I know."

"I will be called a Dark Witch."

"I know."

Hermione rested her right hand on Fleur's left and caressed her cheek with her left, secretly pleased that the blonde didn't flinch away from the cool metal.

"I love you." The brunette whispered against the taller woman's lips. "With every beat of my heart."

"I know."

And they sealed it with a deep kiss.


	3. Chapter 3: Methodology and Misdirection

A couple of things that may need clearing up:

Ages: Gabrielle-21, Hermione-28, Harry-27, Fleur-30

Dumbledore died Sixth year, Second War began in earnest that summer and lasted for ten years. The Revolution begins approximately one year after Harry defeats Voldemort.

The magic trick that Hermione performs is one made famous by Teller of the duo "Penn & Teller". You can find him giving a seminar and explaining the trick on YouTube, where he talks about how magicians exploit people's natural inclination to study patterns. It's a very interesting seminar, so I do recommend taking a look at it.

And because I just wanna make this author's note section a bit longer, thank you all for the awesome responses that this story's gotten! Seriously, you guys are fantastic, and you all deserve a big piece of cake or sugary item of your choice! So, go get some sugar and tell everyone that a total stranger on the interwebs gave you permission!

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but my student loan debt and my copy of Fallout 4.

 **Methodology and Misdirection**

"How many people here have seen a Muggle magic show?" Hermione asked as she turned away from the class to place the newly-acquired wands on her desk. She turned, rolling up her sleeves as she did, to see only one hand raised. It didn't really surprise her; even among Muggles, magic shows weren't too terribly popular in London. "Mister…Multon, correct? How many have you seen?"

A blue-eyed man in his mid-thirties with a rather severe look about him shrugged in response. "I remember watching a lot of them when I was a kid. I actually wanted to be a magician, in fact. But then I went to Hogwarts." His eyes sparkled in a show of mirth that was a bit surprising for someone with his features. "Once you've turned an animal into a goblet, Muggle magic seems pretty tame by comparison."

At that moment, Gabrielle accidentally bumped a table in the back of the room, causing it to scrape loudly against the floor and drawing the attention of the class as she blushed and muttered an apology. Her companion ignored the interruption.

"I'd imagine so." Hermione admitted, causing the class to refocus on her and the small bronze bucket she was now holding in her left hand. "Well, your inner child will be happy to know that you're going to learn quite a bit about magician methodology in your Rogue training."

The brunette noted the looks of peaked interest as she turned her attention back to the class at large.

"When an action is repeated in front of a person, it's usually in that person's nature to seek out a pattern. When you try to do that with a magician, however, they often use that against you. For example," she suddenly reached out with her left hand and produced a galleon seemingly out of thin air, "if I were to produce a coin like so…"

She dropped the galleon into the bucket with a loud CLANK, and then "grabbed" another galleon from the air.

"…And then another one…"

CLANK!

"And then another one!"

She dropped the third galleon in and began shaking the bucket, causing a loud rattling noise to echo through the otherwise silent room. As the bucket rattled, she "grabbed" another galleon, holding this one to her face.

"Are these even…" she bit down on it as her other hand continued to shake the bucket.

"Yep, they're real!" CLANK!

The loud rattling continued as Hermione reached out and "grabbed" a fifth galleon in her middle finger and thumb, exposing her empty palm to the classroom. As the bucket made another CLANK, she crossed the room to Jackson's desk.

"Begging your pardon, Jackson." She said as she ran her hand into his hair and produced a sixth galleon, which joined the others in the ever-rattling bucket. She then traveled over to Clonch's desk.

"May I see your eyeglasses, Clonch?"

Confused, the blonde handed them over and watched as Hermione shook them lightly into the bucket, causing another two CLANKS to be heard. Hermione handed them back and then made her way to the fifth and final member of the small group, a tall gangly man with a square jaw and a mess of thick brown hair on his head.

"Timmons, may I borrow your shoe for a moment?" Hermione asked as if borrowing a complete stranger's footwear was the most natural thing in the world. With a look of growing amusement, Timmons slipped off his shoe and held it out.

"Thank you." Hermione said as she switched the still rattling bucket to her right hand and began pulling more galleons out of the offered shoe with her left.

CLANK!

CLANK!

She then reached up to cover a brief cough, and another galleon tumbled from her mouth and into the bucket. She then looked at the class expectantly.

"Does anyone know exactly how I did that?"

Stunned silence was her only answer for a while, before Williams tentatively offered a guess.

"Wandless conjuring?"

"While I am rather adept at wandless magic," Hermione admitted as she crossed back to her desk, "in this case, I never used a single bit of spellcasting in this trick. The trick is performed by using misdirection and sleight of hand."

The brunette emptied the coins into her hand and set the bucket onto her desk.

"Your first instinct as you watch the trick is to assume that I'm holding all of the coins in my right hand. In reality, I'm holding five in my right hand, and six in my left hand." She picked the bucket back up with her slightly cupped left hand as her right arm dangled by her side, palm face away from the audience.

"The initial four coins appear through that sleight of hand that I mentioned earlier." Moving more slowly, the class was able to see Hermione's thumb push one coin up and into the line of sight as she repeated the "grabbing" motion with the first four galleons.

"By this point, you would be assuming that I have all of the coins in my right hand, and you believe that you have the trick figured out." She then re-created the reaching and grabbing motion used to produce the fifth coin, this time showing her empty palm to the group. "But when I grab the fifth coin, you see my empty palm, and it causes you to question your earlier assumption. After all, how can I have ALL of the coins in my right hand if I've just shown you halfway through the trick that it's empty?"

Again, she began to rattle the bucket. "When I shake the bucket and cause that loud rattling noise, it makes it harder for you to count the coins and focus on what I'm doing, because your attention is drawn to what's making the most noise. I've also just shown you that your original guess on how I'm doing the trick is wrong, so the distraction of the bucket is keeping you off-balance."

Hermione began to move toward Jackson again, her right hand drifting toward the bucket as her eyes focused on his head. "When you see me focusing on Jackson, your attention begins to drift toward him, and you hear the sound of another coin being dropped."

CLANK!

"You assume that I dropped the one in my right hand because that's what I've been doing. However," she revealed the coin still in her right hand, "I actually dropped one from my left hand into the bucket." She then mimed running her hand through Jackson's hair and produced the next coin.

"What you thought was a new coin, was actually a re-production of the fifth one." Hermione explained and she clearly dropped the galleon into the bucket, this time. "Then, when I borrowed Clonch's eyeglasses, I held them into the bucket and gave them two clear shakes."

She did so, showing clearly that the two CLANKS were produced by more coins dropping out of her left hand.

"The trick gets more ridiculous as I go along," Hermione explained as she returned Clonch's glasses a second time, "making it harder for you to determine how I'm doing it."

She then returned to the shoe that Timmons helpfully left sitting on his desk, once again transferring the bucket from one hand to the other. She held up her left hand, showing the galleons palmed inside of it. "By this point, my right hand is empty, and my left hand has three coins remaining. I use the original sleight of hand to pull two coins from Timmons's shoe…"

CLANK!

CLANK!

"…And then I fake a cough to drop the last one in."

CLANK!

"Even as you were watching me the entire time, I was using misdirection to keep you off-balance. The first use of misdirection was that I was simply holding all of the coins in my right hand. The second was the clanking and rattling, which kept you distracted and unfocused. The third was showing you my empty hand, causing you to discount your earlier theory about how the trick was being done. The fourth was producing more coins with what seemed like my right hand, further adding to your confusion. The fifth was making coins appear from your classmates' hair and clothing, causing you to wonder just how far off your original theory was. Once you thought you had the pattern figured out, I changed it. Not only did this make you have to look for a new pattern, it made you wonder if your first guess was even correct at all, even though it was."

Hermione returned to her desk and set the bucket down before turning back to the class. "The Rogues use that same kind of misdirection to keep Riddle guessing as to how we do things and what our plans are. For example, we'll carry out sabotage missions using a certain type of plan until we feel that he's figured out how we're doing it, then we'll change our methods entirely while still sabotaging more of his facilities. Likewise, we'll go for months without performing an assassination, then do multiple kills either at the same time or with too little time in between for him to figure out where we plan to strike next. Our secret to keeping Riddle from figuring out the pattern is to misdirect him and seem unpredictable to the point of looking chaotic. This serves two purposes: not only does it make our moves harder to predict, it makes us seem like an unorganized group with no ties to Potter's more militarized army. In essence, we do everything we can to make him underestimate us."

"Wait," Multon raised his hand to pause Hermione's lecture, "that explains how you did the trick itself, but what about the set-up? You weren't holding coins in your hands when we first walked in, were you?"

"Well spotted." Hermione nodded with a smirk. "No, I palmed those coins right in front of you all. You simply didn't notice."

"Wait, how?" Clonch asked, her face twisted in confusion. "We were watching you the whole time!"

"Not the whole time…" Timmons pointed out with a widening smirk as things became clear. He turned to the smirking Veela in the back of the room. "Earlier, right before the trick, you bumped the table on purpose!"

"Yes, I did." Gabrielle nodded, pleased with how quick this group seemed to be catching on. "Had I not, you would have kept your eyes on Granger, and she would have never been able to prepare that trick. Had I not been here to draw your attention, that trick would have never taken place at all."

"And that," Hermione said with a triumphant look in her eyes, "is why the Rogues will always need the Tanks."

* * *

"Hermione! Hermione, wait up!"

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed as she stopped to look at her pursuer.

"What do you want, Harry? My portkey to France leaves in two hours, and I have a lot of loose ends to tie up." She growled as the flood of people jostled past her into Gringotts. Harry skidded to a halt in front of her, his green eyes looking at her warily.

"Hermione, about what happened in there earlier, I'm so sor-"

"Don't fucking apologize to me, Harry!" Hermione snarled, resisting the urge to throttle the dark haired man before her. "If you want to apologize to someone, you can buy a goddamned portkey to France and beg Gabrielle for forgiveness! And after she's done turning you inside out with her bare hands, you can try your luck with Fleur."

"Hermione, please! I swear, I can fix it!" Harry pleaded as he grabbed Hermione's arm to keep her from leaving. She twisted her hand and gripped his arm back, pulling him closer until their noses almost touched.

"Tell me how." The muggleborn hissed, staring directly into the green orbs before her. "My sister-in-law suffered something that no one should have to suffer, let alone an eight-year-old child. That same woman, I'd like to add, fought for years to help you kill Riddle for good. And now, the highest court in Magical Britain has decided to thank her for her sacrifices by telling her that, legally, she cannot be raped! Now how, exactly, DO YOU INTEND TO FIX THAT?!"

Hermione's voice rose in volume at the end, and soon the crowd that had been bumping and jostling them before had begun to take an interest in the argument taking place on the steps of Gringott's Bank. The two friends held each other's gaze for a full, tense minute before Harry noticed the forming crowd.

"We shouldn't talk here." He said, the growing number of people making him nervous. The brunette nodded, and the two stalked off to a darkened alley, Harry casting silencing and 'notice-me-not' charms once they found a spot to continue their argument.

"Hermione, please," Harry pleaded desperately, "I have political clout, I can push legislation through! Just give me some time and-"

"Gabrielle's been waiting for thirteen fucking years, I'd say she's been patient enough, wouldn't you?!" Hermione crossed her arms, only partially hiding the pain it caused her arm to do so.

"For fuck's sake, Hermione, this shit takes time!" Harry was quickly losing patience. "I'm not going to let Nott go unpunished, but I can't just snap my fingers and make a new law appear!"

"And until then, Gabrielle will just be another victim of delayed justice?" Hermione snapped. "Just like Siri-"

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY HIS FUCKING NAME TO ME!" Harry roared, his eyes burning with a fire that Hermione hadn't seen since Voldemort's death. "My godfather died waiting for justice, and if you think for one second that I'm going to let someone else go through that when I can do something to stop it, then you really never knew me at all!"

"The only thing I see you doing," Hermione retorted, "is performing tricks every time Chief Dickhead of the Wizengamot snaps his fingers! I bet you sit up and beg for treats, too!"

"And how would you know what I do at the Ministry?!" The former Boy-Who-Lived growled. "I haven't seen you inside that damn building since the day you decided that you were too good to work a desk job!"

"Oh, you mean the same day that you hung your balls on the Minister's mantle?"

"Grow the fuck up, Hermione!" Harry snapped, his fists clenching and unclenching with the effort of trying to stay calm. "I've spent my entire life fighting Voldemort, is it so hard to believe that I would like a little peace for once in my god-forsaken life?! Not every problem has to be solved with violence, and we can't just force the kind of changes that we both want to see in the Ministry!"

Hermione stared her friend of sixteen years down, unable to ignore the hint of pride she felt at his ability to stand firm under her gaze. Finally, she reached out and tapped Harry's Auror badge rather roughly, leaving a smudge on the shine he'd painstakingly polished into it.

"'Be patient'?" Hermione asked. "'Go through the proper channels'? That's funny, I've never seen someone make full Auror in less than a year…"

With that, the brunette spun on her heel and stalked toward the bank, intent on taking care of her business as quickly as she could and possibly trying for an earlier portkey back to France.

* * *

Later that night, as Fleur took a quick bathroom break, Hermione sat by Gabrielle's side as the young Veela slept fitfully. The muggleborn checked her watch before pulling her Rogue badge back out of her pocket and tapping it three times with her wand. Aurors were painstakingly checked for tracking and monitoring charms before every shift at the Ministry, but there was no need to check for muggle recording devices. After all, everyone knows that muggle electronics don't work in magical environments.

"Oh, yes," she muttered as the badge's face changed, showing her everything as Harry worked his night shift at the Ministry, "the Rogues will always need the Tanks…"

* * *

AN: My original idea for this story was the concept of Hermione forcefully taking over the Ministry for the good of Magical Britain. While Hermione is still doing what she thinks is best for the marginalized groups of Britain, I decided to challenge myself by seeing if I could write her as a bad guy and still make the readers like her. So, as far as tactics and morals go, Harry is light and Hermione is dark. Harry does want to fix the problems and the bigotry, but he wants to do it through the proper channels and convince the Ministry to change itself; the "Dumbledore Route", I guess you could say. Hermione, meanwhile, is not willing to wait that long and intends to force the changes that she wants to see; the "Voldemort Route". The main difference between this Hermione and my Hermione from "Collar…" is that the war went on much longer, meaning that this Hermione had to justify her darker actions and accept her growing bloodlust as being necessary for the Greater Good. It's always harder to write villains, which is why I think we love the well-written ones as much as we do. Hopefully, I'll be up to the challenge of making her and Fleur sufficiently dark, but sympathetic. On that note, Fleur's going to have a bigger role as the story advances, I've just been trying to flesh Hermione out a bit and give everyone a better idea of how the Second War was fought. But yeah, Fleur will be an equal partner in Hermione's takeover. I've never been a fan of authors who reduce a character to arm candy…


	4. Chapter 4: From the Ashes

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but my fucked-up brain and my Minecraft skull-fortress.

 **Chapter 4: From the Ashes**

Gabrielle's blue eyes fluttered open and she smiled at the sight before her. Hermione sat in a conjured armchair next to her bed with Fleur gently cradled in her lap, both of them snoring softly. The younger Veela quietly rolled onto her side to watch the two, her face becoming solemn as she contemplated the day before.

She'd lost control yesterday, there was no denying that. Of course, anyone would agree that she'd had damn good reason to, but the blonde still couldn't help but hate when she gave in to her emotions. She'd been fighting for four years against Voldemort, much to her older sister's displeasure, and she couldn't help but feel weak on the few occasions she'd allowed herself to cry. Gabrielle wanted to be strong and brave, like her big sister.

Like Hermione.

* * *

Gabrielle was done sitting on the sidelines. Voldemort had been tightening his cruel grip on Magical Britain ever since the summer after Dumbledore had been killed. She knew the Resistance was making headway, but she also knew that they needed help. She didn't know how much of a difference one teenaged Veela could make, but she was determined to find out.

That line of thought led her directly into a meeting of the higher ranking members of the Resistance, where she had marched in and loudly declared her intention to fight.

Fleur had objected…quite vocally. The older Veela had spent the last four years patching up the soldiers who fought for the light, and she would be damned if she allowed her little sister to get hurt. Others, like Bill and Flitwick, saw the desire she had to fight, but were hesitant to throw someone so young headfirst into battle.

As the argument rose in volume, Hermione merely sat in her seat, quietly watching Gabrielle and Fleur argue passionately. After a few minutes, she spoke in a voice that commanded the silence of everyone else in the room.

"Gabrielle, how did you get past my wards?"

The blonde in question drew herself up to her full height, staring at Hermione with all of the defiance that only a teenager could successfully muster.

"Make me a Rogue, and I'll tell you!"

The entire room held its breath as it awaited Hermione's response. Harry looked at her with genuine intrigue, curious as to how the brunette's natural need for knowledge would fair when stacked against her desire to protect those she cared for. The twins' looked a bit more piteous, knowing that whatever choice Hermione made would cause her to end up on the bad side of a temperamental Veela. Fleur's look could only be interpreted as, "I swear, I will cut your fucking heart out if you say 'yes'!"

After a tense moment, Hermione smirked in equal parts amusement and pride.

* * *

Gabrielle slipped out of bed and silently padded to the kitchen, intent on making a light breakfast for her nighttime sentries. Cracking a few eggs, her mind drifted back to the day she submitted her "application" for the Rogues. Hermione had left the meeting early, leaving Dean to report in her stead, and pulled Gabrielle into an empty classroom. Once a few very strong wards had been thrown up, the muggleborn proceeded to inform her lover's sister of every horrific act she'd committed in the name of the light. Every murder, every kidnapping, every torture session, Hermione left absolutely nothing out. If Gabrielle wanted to fight for the light, then the brunette was going to make her understand exactly what would be expected of her. Truthfully, Hermione had expected her impromptu confession to make Gabrielle re-think her plans and decide to do something a bit further from the front lines, like healing or information-compiling.

What she didn't expect was for Gabrielle's resolve to merely strengthen.

* * *

"That's why I want to fight with you, Hermione." The petite blonde reaffirmed. "Fleur loves me, and she's very protective of me. That's all well and good, and I love her with all of my heart," piercing blue eyes bore into chocolate ones, "but you respect me."

"Gabby…" Hermione trailed off, not sure how to respond.

"Oh, I know that Fleur respects me." The blonde admitted. "But, when you spend your whole life looking out for someone, watching them grow, and always being a source of wisdom for them, it's really hard to see them as anything other than the child who followed you around for years and revered your every move. It's really hard to treat someone who idolizes you as an equal."

Sighing in resignation, Hermione ran her fingers through her now much shorter hair. "I always knew you were smart, Gabby, but I'm not very used to hearing wisdom like this from a kid."

"I haven't been a kid for seven years." Gabrielle's voice noticeably cooled. Hermione stared into her darkened blue eyes before nodding slowly.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

* * *

The smell of cooking eggs and bacon wafted through the house, and Gabrielle's trained ears picked up the soft sounds of rustling upstairs. By the time the married couple had worked out the kinks from their uncomfortable sleeping arrangement, breakfast would be ready.

* * *

After a bit more cajoling and prodding, Hermione had finally accepted that she wasn't going to make Gabrielle change her mind. Still, the brunette was adamant that she would never accept a fifteen-year-old into the Rogues. So, she wrote up a list of intense cardio and strength exercises, and told Gabrielle to see her again in a year.

"And for the love of Merlin, learn to walk more quietly!" Hermione had grumbled as she left the classroom. "I could hear you coming from the end of the corridor!"

A year later, Gabrielle became the youngest witch to ever be accepted for Rogue training. Hermione was usually involved in every Rogue's training to some degree, but Gabrielle she trained personally. One would think that would mean that Gabrielle would get more breaks than the typical Rogue, but Hermione was relentless. However, the young Veela was determined to prove her worth, and faced every challenge with an inner strength that few knew she possessed. She understood why Hermione was pushing her so hard: because the muggleborn would hate herself forever if she got Fleur's little sister killed.

Fleur certainly didn't approve of Gabrielle's induction into the Rogues, and avoided both of the witches for the first week or two of her sister's training. Eventually, Molly Weasley pulled the French witch aside and firmly advised her to reconsider how she was treating her loved ones. As with all other universal truths, advice from Molly Weasley was advice ignored at your own peril. Fleur cornered the two and informed them that if Gabrielle was determined to put herself in danger, then so be it.

"However," Fleur growled as she fixed her piercing blue eyes on Hermione, "you'd better have her prepared to face Voldemort himself before you let her out on a single mission!"

Hermione kept her hands held up in a surrender position. "Fleur, I give you my word, Gabrielle will be the best-trained Rogue in the entire Resistance."

"She'd better be!" Fleur growled before turning her gaze to a nervous Gabrielle. "And you had better do everything Hermione says, when she says it! One instance of disobedience from you, and I swear I'll find a way to get you back to France, no matter how many trade embargos they put around Britain!"

"Sis, I promise that I'll do everything that Hermione says." Gabrielle swore, trying to stay calm so as not to agitate Fleur any more.

Fleur seemed to deflate as she nodded in acceptance. After a few quiet moments, she grabbed both of the most important women in her life in a hug that Molly would've been proud of and sobbed out her fears. Being on the front lines of any war was tough, but that was the moment Gabrielle learned that not being in the thick of it could sometimes be much tougher.

Once Fleur calmed herself, she kissed both of them on their foreheads before returning to the Hospital Wing and to her patients.

"My sister is mental." Gabrielle muttered with a smile that took the sting from her remark.

"Yeah," Hermione nodded, "but it's always nice to feel loved."

Gabrielle agreed.

* * *

Gabrielle emptied the bacon and eggs onto three plates as Hermione entered the kitchen with a yawn, her short hair in disarray as food took a higher priority than hygiene right now. The muggleborn crossed the floor and grabbed some orange juice and glasses from the fridge and cupboard. Once the food and beverages were placed on the small kitchen table, the two sat in a companionable silence, waiting thoughtfully for Fleur to join them.

"I'm sorry." Hermione finally whispered, unable to look at her sister in all but blood.

"You couldn't have stopped it." Gabrielle replied, taking Hermione's right hand as it rested on the table. "We both know that."

"I knew what would happen, I should have-"

"Stop it." Gabrielle gently but firmly stopped the muggleborn's thoughts from going down that road. "We can get caught up in what we should have done, but it won't change what happened. I don't blame you for this, so stop blaming yourself."

"I'll fix it, Gabby." Brown eyes locked with blue ones for the first time all morning. "I promise, I will fix this. You'll see justice, I swear it."

"I know." The young Veela replied. "But you're wrong about one thing."

Hermione gave her a confused look, which she answered with a smile.

"WE will fix this. And not just that bullshit that went on in the court, yesterday." Gabrielle's eyes burned with all the fiery passion that Veela were famous for. "We'll make Magical Britain into something respectable, even if we have to drag it kicking and screaming. And we'll do it together; all of us."

Hermione couldn't fight the smirk tugging at her lips. Gabrielle had come so far from the defiant teenager who had barged into an important meeting, demanding to be trained. That fire still burned brightly, but the Veela had learned to control herself. She was wiser, calmer, and more confident in herself.

Hermione couldn't have been more proud.

"Harry thinks he can make the reforms happen the legal way." The brunette mentioned. "He thinks he's got enough political clout to change the creature laws."

"That's bullshit."

Both witches looked up into Fleur's icy blue eyes. The older Veela sat down and gave Hermione a quick kiss before continuing.

"Harry means well, and I think he really does want to fix the laws, but he's deluding himself if he thinks the purebloods will pass the kind of laws Britain needs. As far as they're concerned, illegalizing the rape of sentient non-humans will be the first step in making them equal to humans. That'll never happen as long as the wizard voting body continues to be all-pureblood." Fleur scowled into her breakfast as she finished her rant, angrily stabbing at the eggs.

"Because if we become equal…then we'll start wanting to have other rights." Gabrielle figured as she watched Hermione rest her new metallic hand on Fleur's. "Like the right to be a part of the law-making process."

"Exactly! Those pitiful, insecure, disgusting little…ugh!" Fleur's fork almost stabbed right through her plate. "I never should have let you come with me to Hogwarts. I knew how bad British purebloods were, but I never…I never…" The former Triwizard Champion's shoulders slumped and she started to softly sob into her hands.

Gabrielle shot out of her chair and hugged her older sister tightly to her chest. Hermione, realizing that the two needed a moment alone, quietly picked up the barely-touched breakfasts and walked them to the sink. The smaller blonde took the newly-vacant chair, never breaking her embrace. After a few minutes, the older Veela looked up with tired eyes.

"Gabrielle…I'm so sor-" Gabrielle gently shushed her and pulled her older sister's head to rest on her shoulder.

"See, this is why you need to stop doing your morning routine before breakfast." The petite blonde admonished with a small smile. "I've already had this talk with Hermione, and I'm going to tell you the same thing I told her: I don't blame you, so stop blaming yourself. I hate what he did to me. He took away my feeling of security, and I've spent the better half of thirteen years trying to get it back. I hate feeling uncomfortable around men, I hate being afraid of the dark, and I hate being afraid of sex. But you didn't make me feel like that, and neither did Hermione. You've both done everything you could possibly do to help me heal, and I'll always be grateful to you for it. Theodore Nott did this to me, and the first thing that I'm going to do when we take over the Ministry is make him pay for it."

Gabrielle's blue eyes turned to steel as she spoke, but as she refocused on her sister, she softened a bit.

"That's why I need you to stop blaming yourself, Fleur. If this plan is going to work, Hermione's going to need your help. You know how rubbish she is at reading people; she'll be promising copies of the 'Twilight' saga to the vampires in exchange for their help."

That got the first choked laugh out of Fleur all morning.

"We can't do this without you, and you're going to have a hard enough job without all this baggage. Please, let it go. For me?"

Fleur dried her eyes as the fire returned to her spirit. Unable to speak through the lump in her throat, the older Veela nodded and pulled her little sister into a firm hug.

"I'd give anything to take back what he did to you." Fleur murmured into the blonde head resting on her chest. "But if I can't do that, I can at least help you make him pay for it."

The sisters held each other for a bit longer, content to let their emotions have free reign for a short time before they would have to be re-bottled for the Revolution. They would get it all out now, and when the time came to fight, not one tear would be shed. Finally, the two pulled apart and glanced at Hermione, who was leaning against the sink with her wand in her hand and casting spells on her Rogue badge, studiously ignoring the display in front of her.

"Hermione," Gabrielle finally said with a gentle twinkle in her eye, "what happened to your arm?"

The brunette looked up with a small smirk.

"Misplaced it."


	5. Chapter 5: Sedition

AN: Holy shit, guys! Rogue stuff's gonna happen in this chapter! Isn't that exciting?! …Well, I think it's exciting…

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but a deep platonic affection for Emma Watson and her political activism.

 **Chapter 5: Sedition**

Fleur kept a hand on both Hermione and Gabrielle's shoulders, trekking carefully through the forest as the two held their Rogue badges out like tracking devices. Finally, the tallest of the three women felt the brief sensation of being dipped in water as they crossed the ward barrier and a rickety and torn tent appeared before their eyes.

"You know," Hermione commented as they continued toward the tent, "when I told Jackson to make the tent look as shabby and unassuming as possible, I think he may have taken my orders a bit too seriously…"

"What? Jackson took his orders too seriously? Imagine that." Gabrielle drawled with a sarcastic smile as she ducked under the flap that Hermione kindly held open for her and Fleur.

"I heard that, Blondie!" Came the call from one of the back rooms.

"Is that okay?" The young Veela asked with a smirk as she sat at the large round table in the center of the main room, where Penelope Clearwater, Dennis Creevy, Bill and Charlie Weasley, Tonks Lupin, and a few others had already taken their seats. Jackson entered soon after, his arms full of blueprints and files.

"As a matter of fact, go fuck yourself!" The tall man retorted as he slammed the box of files onto the table, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he and Gabrielle bantered.

"Alright, lovebirds, we got work to do. You're gonna have to cut this make-out session short." Dean Thomas entered behind Jackson and sat at Hermione's left, with Fleur naturally sitting at her right.

The war had aged Dean more than others, but thankfully it hadn't killed his sense of humor. His once jet-black hair had grey running along the sides, and a clear scar stood out on his chin and shot up past his left eye to halfway up his forehead. His face was a bit gaunt and his eyes more than a bit haunted, but the spark of life that had made him the life of the Gryffindor male dorms never quite went out. He was one of the few things Hermione had left to be thankful for: Dean was a fantastic tactician and a better second-in-command could never be found.

Everyone quickly found their seats and looked at Hermione expectantly. Fleur rested her hand on the muggleborn's leg to keep her grounded as she started to address the small group that had been able to make the meeting.

"As many of you know, the Wizengamont is filled with bigoted, short-sided pricks who wouldn't know common decency if it danced naked in front of them while wearing a tea cozy."

"Don't hold back, Hermione, tell us how you really feel." Justin Finch-Fletchley responded as he leaned back a bit in his chair. Hermione shot the muscular man a savage smirk.

"Very well, the Ministry of Magic is run by incompetent boobs who spent the last ten years that Riddle was in power printing bullshit propaganda designed to vilify and demonize anyone not a pureblood. Muggleborns, especially, were victims of those fucking lies and because of roaring thundercunts like Umbridge and Malfoy, the muggleborn population of Britain has been cut in half either by emigration or murder."

Fleur kept silent as Hermione's rant picked up steam, knowing that everyone's anger would need to be fueled to make the decision to take over the Ministry easier. It was one thing to say you were going to plan a coup, but actively planning to murder and usurp governmental leaders was a whole different game of Quidditch.

"Even before Riddle came out of the shadows, the Ministry has systematically stripped away the rights of every magical being that didn't fit into their category of 'proper wizards'. Werewolf communities full of good people who just want to live in peace are forced to be nomadic and scrape by with the bare essentials because of unfair job restrictions. In the last war, I lost count of how many destroyed manors and homes we sifted through, only to find dozens of House Elves who had been ordered to die so that their cowardly masters could escape Riddle's forces. Vampires are capable of some of the most dangerous magic imaginable, yet the Ministry chooses to alienate and provoke them at every turn. For fuck's sake, these pureblooded dipshits actively try to annoy the very beings who have full control over the entire British Wizarding economy, and no one sees anything wrong with that!"

Hermione's gaze shifted to Gabrielle, who met her eyes resolutely.

"Veela are so misunderstood and stigmatized by our government, that there aren't even any laws against raping them."

Gabrielle felt Penelope gently grab and squeeze her shoulder, offering her comfort. The petite blonde subtly leaned into the touch, taking whatever reassurance she could get.

"All of this is wrong. Maybe not legally, according to these backwards idiots, but morally it's wrong. We made the decision as a group to keep a low profile for one year in order to give the Ministry one last chance to clean up its act. We didn't threaten them, we didn't bribe them, we simply waited to see if they would make the choice themselves. As many of you know, they haven't. They're willing to carry on with the status quo for the simple fact of 'that's the way it's always been done'."

Hermione's eyes flashed with pure rage as she stood and slammed her fist onto the table, her magic rolling off of her in waves and sparking at her fingertips.

"Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm fucking sick of hearing 'well, that's the way we've always done it'. Magical Britain has been willing to sit back on its haunches and brag about its superiority, while the rest of the magical world continues to pass us by. The first time I ever entered Diagon Alley, literally two hours after learning of the wizarding world, I was looked at with so much disgust, you'd have thought I'd murdered every puppy and kitten in the world. I've heard the term 'mudblood' more times than I can count while at Hogwarts, and I know that the same has happened to most of you."

Many at the table looked back at their leader with solemn expressions as everyone silently relived their own personal experiences of prejudice at the hands of pureblood fanatics.

"On the other hand, the witches of Beauxbaton stayed in the castle an entire year, and while they certainly weren't the most social ladies in the world," the entire group, even the Veela, chuckled "I never once heard a disparaging comment about my ancestry from any of them. Hell, Durmstrang has a reputation for teaching the Dark Arts, and their most popular student escorted me to the Yule Ball! What the fuck kind of society do we live in where a school steeped in ill-repute is less prejudiced than the 'premier Wizarding school in Europe'?"

Fleur's eyes darkened a bit as she watched her wife build to her conclusion. Merlin, the brunette was so fucking sexy when she was passionate! It was taking all of the former Triwizard champion's self-control not to lick her lips at the sight.

"I think I speak for all of us when I say that we've given the Ministry long enough to get its head out of its arse. They're not interested in changing because change would mean that the limp-dicked pureblood fanatics would have to surrender some of their power to us lowly 'half-breeds'. We've spent the past year quietly gathering intel and recruiting sympathetic people within the Ministry, and I believe it's time to put all of that to use. I think it's time that Magical Britain saw a regime change."

"Right on, Granger! That's the first sensible thing you've said all year!" Dennis shouted as he slammed a calloused hand onto the table. "My brother died in the final battle for those fucking pricks, and he doesn't even get a passing mention in the Daily Prophet for it, never mind any fucking Orders of Merlin!"

The others started to speak up, finally having a somewhat public forum to air their grievances.

"Remus gave everything to save some of those Wizengamont bastards from Riddle's assassins," Tonks quietly growled, her fist clenched on the table in fury, "and the few loyal Aurors left burned his body before I had a chance to retrieve it. 'Werewolf disposal procedure' they called it. I still remember the look on Dawlish's face when he did it, he looked downright gleeful! I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye…"

The former Auror sobbed into her hands as Bill put a comforting arm around her shoulders. The death of Remus Lupin and his forced cremation was a sore spot among the Rogues, even six years later.

"We lost our entire family," Charlie snarled, his once peaceful aura gone years ago, "every last one of them sacrificed themselves to save Magical Britain, and I still get called a blood traitor every time I walk past those fuckers. Did you know I spent a month in a Ministry holding cell for punching out one of the Ministry donors? He'd offered me a knut to buy a shoebox to bury my parents in."

"I worked at the Ministry for years before Riddle took over." Penelope said softly. "I wouldn't 'service' the piece of shit above me, and I spent years getting passed over for promotions that went to idiots who don't know their assholes from a hole in the ground. My ability means nothing to these people."

One by one, each Rogue gave their account of life after the Second War. Hermione stood silently, content to let them stoke the flames in their hearts. As the conversation started to die down, she looked at Dean encouragingly. He stared at the table top as he whispered, his voice still managing to carry through the now silent group.

"They still won't tell me where my mother is. I don't even know if she's alive or dead." The dark-skinned man spat at the floor, his feelings on the Ministry very clear. Hermione rested her metallic hand on the man's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"We all have our reasons for wanting a new government." Hermione said, turning her attention back to the room. "Truth be told: I firmly believe that more people want change than are willing to admit. The bigots will fuss and cuss, but if we can take the power out of their hands, I know that we can make Magical Britain into the place we expected when we first received our Hogwarts letters. It won't be easy, and we'll be forced to do things that we may never forgive ourselves for, but I know we can do this. Who's with me?"

There was no hesitation as every wand rose. Every witch and wizard in the tent would have gladly followed Hermione into Hell itself. The brunette nodded, her eyes shining with pride as she sat back down.

"Alright, let's start with updates. Penelope?"

The former Ravenclaw prefect opened a small notebook in front of her and flipped to the page she needed.

"Well, you won't be surprised to hear that every muggleborn working for the Ministry will support us. I've also got Clonch and Justin working on the lower-ranking fence-sitters. I'm optimistic, but we'll need more time to convert them. Subtlety requires patience, and you can't exactly just walk up to them and go, 'Hey, fancy overthrowing the government on Tuesday?'"

"Don't stress too much over time." Hermione assured the skinny blonde. "We still have some negotiations to finish up before we can make any big moves. Until then, focus on getting as many people out of the firing line as possible. At this point, I'll take neutrality over spilling any more blood than absolutely necessary."

"Speaking of which," Bill interjected, "I heard you were at Gringott's the other day, Hermione?"

The brunette rolled her eyes in response. "I'm pretty sure all of Magical Britain knows I was at Gringott's the other day. I wasn't expecting Harry to show up, to be honest, but hopefully I dropped enough hints to make people think I've left Britain for good."

"I don't know about 'for good', but the Ministry scuttlebutt definitely thinks that you've left the country." Jackson confirmed. Being a gopher between the departments certainly had its perks. "Actually, the bigots are relieved about it. They think that with you gone, the 'lesser beings' will stop grumbling and toddle off back to their 'proper place' in society."

"Under the Ministry's boot-heel…" Charlie muttered with a dark glare.

"Quite." Hermione concurred. She'd always appreciated Charlie's bluntness. "So, that means I'm going to have to be careful not to make any appearances in Magical Britain until we're ready to move. The more comfortable the bigots are, the more likely we'll catch them off-guard."

"Fleur, Gabrielle, I think it'd be best if you go underground, too." Dean suggested to the two Veela. "If someone spots either of you without Hermione nearby, that may raise some red flags."

"I think you're right, Dean, but I really don't like that." Fleur admitted as she rested her elbows on the table and folded her hands together in deep thought. "Recruitment at St Mungo's would go much smoother if I were able to be there."

"I think we'll be able to manage, Fleur." Dennis assured the concerned woman. "Most of the healers served with you in the war, and the rest are pretty crabby about the recent budget cuts. Besides, St Mungo's as a whole is more concerned with its patients than with politics. I can keep you in the loop, and let you know if we hit any snags."

"That will have to do. Thanks, Dennis, there's no one I trust more to act in my stead." Fleur replied gratefully, causing the sandy-haired man to glow a bit under the praise.

"Getting back to my question:" Bill groused good-naturedly, "how did things go with the goblins?"

"We came to an agreement with our negotiations, and they'll be ready to provide aid when we need it. They've also agreed to freeze the Wizengamont's and the Minister's accounts when we strike, as well as all of the high-ranking toadies."

"They would be violating centuries of treaties to do that!" Bill said with a shocked look on his scarred face. "How in Merlin's name did you manage that?!"

"Simple." Hermione said as she wrapped a proud arm around Fleur. "I left it in my incredible wife's hands. She handled everything beautifully, and would have been able to finish the negotiations herself, but the Goblin leader wanted to make the agreement with me personally. Goblins can be a surprisingly vain bunch."

"I told you, sweetheart; the Goblin leader shaking hands with the leader of the Revolution makes for a better ballad." Fleur said as she leaned into the embrace and rested her head on Hermione's shoulder.

"Either way, we've officially got the Goblins on our side." Dean announced as he opened his own notebook and made a few marks. "So, that gives us the muggleborns, the squibs, most of the half-bloods, the Merfolk, and now the Goblins."

"You can add the House Elves to that list!" A petite blonde called cheerfully as she glided into the tent.

"Luna!" Gabrielle cried as she rushed to hug the Hogwart's professor and current editor of the Quibble.

"Neville sends his regrets that he couldn't attend." The former Ravenclaw said to Hermione over Gabrielle's silvery hair. "He's covering for me at the castle, so I don't have much time."

"I'm just glad you were able to come, at all." Hermione admitted with a small smile as she stood to greet her old friend. "So, you were able to sway the elves? How'd you manage it, they're bound by some of the strongest Loyalty Oaths in existence!"

"True, but it turns out that those oaths are conditional." Luna reported happily, her normally spacey eyes completely focused with accomplishment. "One of the conditions was that wizards would allow the elves to govern themselves internally, including dealing with their dead brethren. When the final battle took place, quite a few elves gave their lives to help end Voldemort; however, instead of allowing the others to collect their bodies, the Unspeakables decided to take them in order to study Elven anatomy and magic."

"For a whole year?" Asked an incredulous Tonks.

"They've had quite a few bodies to work with." Luna replied grimly. "But Elven custom dictates that their bodies aren't to be defiled in such a manner, as it hinders the elf's soul from being reborn."

"I didn't know elves believed in re-incarnation." Fleur muttered.

"It's not a matter of belief." The little blonde replied. "elves undergo a ritual when they die where their brethren preserve their bodies and mourn them for three days. Once the mourning period is over, female elves who are able to produce offspring sit with the body until the soul is ready to leave it. The soul then chooses one of the females to be its new mother. Apparently, that's how House Elves typically reproduce, though they can also do it the old-fashioned way to prevent stagnation. Damaging the body causes damage to the soul because it's still using that vessel, causing it to eventually become too weak to leave. Once that happens, the soul is trapped forever."

"That's horrible!" Gabrielle cried, while most of the Rogues present looked rather green at the thought.

"It is. I've managed to convince the elves to continue on as normal, but they've been debating all-out war with wizards for a few months, now."

"Wait, what about the Black Elves?" Hermione asked as she re-took her seat, her hand instinctively finding Fleur's. "They had a tradition of cutting off their heads and mounting them on the wall."

"That's actually a very rare case, as the Elven family in question chose to damage themselves in that way. They also reproduced by interbreeding, which is also pretty rare among House Elves. The Black family was one of the very few purebloods that gave any thought to what happens to a dead elf. Most don't even notice, as long as their tea isn't late."

The silence that followed Luna's statement was absolute as the Rogues tried to digest what they'd just learned.

"While I hate that they've been forced to go through something so terrible, I am very grateful for their support." Hermione finally said as she stared at her and Fleur's interlocked hands. After another moment, brown eyes met silvery ones. "Please let the House Elves know that we'll do everything in our power to get the bodies to them as quickly as possible. Penelope, can you divert some resources to this?"

"I'll take care of it, Hermione." The former prefect said with steel in her voice. "Even if I have to personally steal every last elf out from under their noses."

"Just do what you can to keep it from coming back to the House Elves." Luna warned. "If the Ministry thinks they're openly defying them, it could lead to open conflict."

"Don't worry, the Department of Mysteries has a habit of making things disappear." Penelope assured her former housemate. "By the time I'm done, I'll have them thinking the remains were destroyed on the Minister's orders. I'll come up with a good excuse."

"Use whatever resources you need." Hermione ordered. "Luna, thank you for taking care of this, you and Neville have been invaluable."

"We're just glad we can help. Neville's having a bit more trouble with the Centaurs, but we'll let you know the second we get a breakthrough." Luna checked her watch. "I have to get back to the castle, but let me know if anything else comes up. Dean, I'll be in touch about any other requests from the elves."

"Please do, and I'll do my best to see them met." The dark man promised. "Be safe out there, Luna."

"You do the same." She replied as she gave Gabrielle one last hug before disappearing through the tent flap. Once the sounds of her soft footsteps faded, the group returned their attentions to the meeting.

"Well, I think we've covered anything that needs covering today, and we all need some time to digest what we've learned." Hermione said to the relief of the others. She hadn't expected this meeting to be as information-heavy as it was, but she was happy to see the progress being made. "As usual, go to Dean if you need any new orders, and keep up the recruitment efforts. With luck, we'll be able to pull this off without too much open fighting. Keep your badges handy, I'll be sending you the next meeting location by next week. Any questions before we end this meeting?"

Jackson's hand flew up.

"Yeah, what happened to your arm?"

"It went on a long journey of self-discovery."

* * *

"Are you sure you'll be alright, Gabby?" Fleur fussed lightly as she hugged her sister yet again, who exchanged a wry smile with Hermione over the older Veela's shoulder.

"I'm fine, Fleur." The younger blonde assured as they all stood outside the small cabin they'd been sharing for the past few weeks leading up to Nott's trial. "I'm just going to go home and let _Maman_ and _Pere_ know what's been going on. You two have been taking such good care of me since the trial, but I think you could use a bit of alone time."

"You know you're not a bit of a bother, Gabby?" Hermione assured as she stood behind Fleur, watching the sisters interact with protective eyes.

"I know, but we've only got a bit longer before we're going to be very busy, and you two need to enjoy some time together before then." The smaller woman replied as she picked up her weightless bag.

"Alright, keep your badge on you;" Hermione said as she wrapped her sister-in-law in a firm but loving hug, "when the vampire community finally gets back to us, we're gonna need your help with the negotiations."

"I'll be ready whenever you need me." Gabrielle promised as she kissed Hermione's cheek before touching her portkey necklace and vanishing to Delacour Manor.

Hermione stared at the small indention left behind in the grass for a few moments more before Fleur's slender arms wrapped around her waist. The shorter woman shivered as pale pink lips planted light kisses along her sensitive neck.

"It would seem that I've been left with a certain little pet for company." Fleur murmured in that dark, possessive way that never failed to light a fire in the brunette's centre.

"Mmmmm, I certainly hope I can keep you entertained." Hermione replied as she turned around and allowed the taller woman to capture her lips in a deep kiss.

"Well, I have a few suggestions as far as entertainment goes," the Veela whispered as she gently nibbled the bottom lip before her "if my pet thinks she has the energy for it."

"I always have energy for you, Mistress." Hermione replied before murmuring a feather-light charm onto herself. Fleur murmured in approval before picking the shorter woman up and wrapping her legs around her waist. Their lips locked again as the Veela carried them inside.

* * *

AN: Next chapter will be a sex interlude, in case you want to skip it! Thanks for reading!


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